A Real Christmas
by Author Demon
Summary: FFVI. When one is born and raised in a desert, one has not truly experienced the holidays. EdgarxLocke


It was snowing just outside of Narshe. No surprise. Big whoop. But it was snowing everywhere else, too. Why not? It was December. The night before Christmas, in fact. Locke grinned up at the sky as the fluffy flakes twirled and spiraled downward. He loved winter. The crisp chill and the pleasingly cold breezes that were the exact opposite of the desert he so often visited. As soon as he had caught sight of the stuff, he plummeted straight into it.

Edgar was miserable.

Locke had dragged him out of his desert castle (where it would never snow) in the middle of the night to head to Narshe. Thankfully, there was a nice little cave that he took shelter in from the snow as he watched the treasure hunter plop into a large pile of it. He shivered. Winter just wasn't his thing. The coldest he was used to were Figaro's nights, and those were quite chilly enough, thank you very much.

"C'mon, Edgar!" Locke called, brushing snow out of his hair with a huge, child-like grin upon his face.

Edgar shook his and readjusted his scarf. "I'm going to stay in here, where it's remotely warm," he responded, "You go ahead and have fun with the white fluff."

A wave of panic washed over him as Locke approached him. "I'm _not_ going out in that." He told him sternly. The treasure hunter merely wore the evil smile that struck terror into Edgar's heart- the one that said 'I'm about to make your life very difficult'. The king of Figaro let out a noise that would send his brother in fits of laughter (it sounded vaguely like a chocobo's startled squawk) as Locke hauled him to his feet with a strength that belied his small frame.

"Come on," he taunted, sending his companion a wink, "afraid you're gonna mess up your hair?"

Edgar fumed and reached out to smack his friend, but missed as Locke hopped backwards out of his reach, laughing as the game began. The slight insult was forgotten, as were their status in regards to each other. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the kind mused that the chancellor's jaw would drop at his current behavior. He paid no attention to that thought. He didn't give a damn.

Before long, he, having given up on the chase, bent over, picking up handfuls of snow and molding it into a ball. He heard Locke mumble a faint "uh-oh" half a second before he hurled it at the smaller man, hitting him square on the forehead. "Oh," he taunted, "we're playing _my_ game, now."

Edgar smirked. "Bring it on, urchin."

"Only if you can handle it, royal bitch!"

"Thief!"

The word acted as a substitute for "start", and snowballs started to fly, hitting the two on the arm, in the middle of backs, in the face, and so on. Locked whooped a victory as he struck Edgar in the ass with a specially made slush-ball. "Oh, yeah!" he cried, punching the air, "What now?!" He was promptly tackled into a snow pile.

Lock was still laughing, even as Edgar held him pinned. "Aww, don't be sore cos' you lost," he wiggled a little, testing his friend's steel grip on his wrist, "you were playing on my turf- what did you expect?"

Edgar narrowed his eyes in a glare. "You hit me."

"Yeah."

"On the ass."

"Yeah." Another wide, toothy grin. He whapped him lightly on the head, allowing Locke to hit him in the shoulder. It quickly morphed into a miniature fight, leaving them feeling like children, as they collapsed side by side in the snow. "See?" The treasure hunter ventured, "winter isn't _that_ bad."

Edgar shrugged. He had to agree. Laying in the chilly snow after running around in heavy clothes felt nice, and he smiled up at the clear night sky, watching his clouds of breath drift upwards and dissipate. It was peaceful out here, calm, and so unlike his life at Figaro. He let his eyes drift shut, a contented smile gracing his lips. Until Locke poked him in the side. "You're a pain," he mumbled.

Without warning, Locke rolled over on top of him, wearing a rare smirk that could only be described as seductive. "Am I?" he murmured, voice hushed. Edgar swallowed hard, confused yet intrigued by his friend's heavy-lidded gaze. Locke's expression snapped back to his usual mischievous smile. "Say, do you know what time it is?"

The blonde king spluttered. "_Excuse me_?" No response. He gave a sigh of frustration before pulling out his pocket watch. "A quarter after midnight. Why?"

Locke grinned widely and leaned in close to whisper to him, lips brushing against Edgar's. "Merry Christmas." The king had no time to wiggle out the position, nor did he really want to. Locke softly pressed his lips to Edgar's, his kiss full of sincerity and warmth. He felt the corners of the brunette's lips turn up in a smile as he eagerly returned the kiss. They lay there for a long while like that, not minding the cold at all.

Edgar decided he didn't mind winter so much.


End file.
